


this is where (your paths) converge

by Archistratego



Series: records of war [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Desk Sex, Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Constipation, Gen, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, chiss poetry, chronic undertagging, the conan au lol, there are so many issues, there is a plot here okay, tropes tropes tropes, winters are rough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 13:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archistratego/pseuds/Archistratego
Summary: Pretty. That was the word Thrawn used in both public and private to describe Eli.This pretty, foreign slave that had been plucked by accident from a battlefield.





	this is where (your paths) converge

Eli looked good tangled in sheets. He was all knobby knees and sharp elbows, not gangly but coltish — _pretty_. That was the word Thrawn used in both public and private to describe Eli.

This pretty, foreign slave that had been plucked by accident from a battlefield.

Drawing his knees up, the sheets slipped down and Thrawn watched in earnest fascination the way the shadows cast by candlelight danced on Eli’s skin.

On the floor, tossed aside as if worthless, were lists with scribbled numbers and lists — important supply information for someone leading an army. Eli had been reading them while waiting for Thrawn to come to bed, and they had been tossed aside when Thrawn pounced; now that Eli had regained his breath, he picked them up.

“Next time, let me put these aside first,” Eli said, dryly.

Thrawn padded out of the chamber into a smaller room leaving Eli to arrange the parchments back in order while he cleaned up.

There were many intimacies shared between them but bathing was something they did individually, even if it meant they would be late. It was an unspoken boundary, as if sharing a tub together was more revealing than Thrawn burying himself deep in Eli, ravenous and possessive. Furthermore, the familiarity birthed from their intimacies has yet to bore Thrawn. It is strange to be faced with a need that defied logic, refusing labels and deadlines.

Thrawn took his time. The cool touch of water against his skin like white noise while he cast his mind to consider other issues that required his attention. In truth, he had been rather preoccupied before getting sidetracked by Eli and after their exertions he felt ready to approach the problems with a clearer mind.

When Thrawn reentered the bedroom, Eli was curled up on his side of the bed, breathing evenly. He observed Eli, counting the seconds between his chest rising and falling in order to ascertain whether he was asleep or pretending to be.

But there was no trap, Eli was asleep.

Thrawn ran his thumb along the bare curve of Eli’s shoulder, watching him shiver a little and tuck himself into the covers. The action was so innocent that it caught Thrawn off-guard, air momentarily punched out of him as Eli settled in.

Repeating the gesture would wake him, so Thrawn refrained from it. Instead he extinguished the candles and slipped between the sheets to join Eli, mattress dipping under his weight.

He drew Eli close, drawn in by his warmth as whispered against the soft skin of Eli’s nape, “ _You are the sun_.”

 

* * *

 

The winters of the Chiss were harsh. The ground frozen solid for months, hidden beneath meters and meters of snow. Eli was born in a place where winters were thin, barely a dent in the long stretches of summer and spring.

Eli grew up with winter as a myth, his mother sharing stories of the winters endured by the Chiss. Those solitary warriors who lived past the highest peak, so far from the world, uninterested in the affairs outside their home.

Now, however, _now_ they were at war with the Empire.

By extension, Eli too, was at war with the Empire.

And he found that, as the Chiss extended their territory, winter followed their footsteps, coating with heavy storms places that had never seen snow before.

 

* * *

 

The first year, Eli had barely survived the Chiss’ winter. He had been young then, angry and passive aggressive, setting down mugs with a little too much force on Thrawn’s desk for it to be accidental. To survive his first winter among the Chiss, Eli had to bend the knee — metaphorically speaking.

The air had been so cold each inhalation caused a dull ache in his lungs. Eli thought winter tasted like grief. _His_ grief. He had wanted — expected — to die under the adverse conditions, curled up in the servant’s quarters under a blanket.

Thrawn watched him, then with uncharacteristic impatience traced the swollen joints of Eli’s hands. His eyes were lined with accusations that Eli could not counter.

“Are your quarters not warm enough?” Thrawn pressed his thumb against the palm of Eli’s hand, eliciting a wince that deteriorated into a raspy cough. “None of the other new slaves have presented any signs of illness or discomfort.”

Thrawn continued his exploratory touch, moving from Eli’s hands to his wrists and up towards his upper arm, rubbing the skin and ignoring Eli’s shudder — it had little to do with the cold, after all.

“I’m not new.” Eli said, angry. Always, always angry.

“Compared to the others, you are.” Thrawn’s gaze was unreadable to Eli. “This is your first winter,” he continued, “The physiology of your kind varies from tribe to tribe—”

“It’s not like I want to be here.” Eli cut him off, face warm. “And winter where I grew up was never like _this_.”

“I will think of a solution.”

Eli liked those words even less than enduring the cold of the servant quarters.

 

* * *

 

A day later a cot had been set up in Thrawn’s room, next to the black stone fireplace. The fire was stoked high; the warmth from it seeping into his joints and easing up his breaths.

Eli never went back to the servant quarters.

 

* * *

 

The council of Chiss families met during winter, where the impenetrable weather meant the Empire could not make an attempt at taking back territory without great loss. After years of war, the Empire was learning.

Thrass led the council, casting long looks at Thrawn’s favourite slave. He vehemently disagrees with Eli being present at all but Thrawn had insisted that he was instrumental. Were it not important to present a united front, Thrass would’ve thrown them both out.

Eli’s expression clouds as the meeting continues, mouth curved downward before being pressed in a thin line. He was pretty, despite the rough edges.

 _Oh_. Thrass thought, discomfort settling at the base of his spine.

 

* * *

 

“There are people there—”

 _People like me_ , Eli meant and he paced back across the chamber towards where Thrawn stood. They are alone at last, a map rolled out over the desk with red and blue marks. In war, the borders were always changing, and this was no exception, the lines had been redrawn again and again and again. Enough times that Eli lost count.

“You can’t let the other Chiss do this.”

Thrawn reached out, squeezing Eli’s wrist hard enough to bruise; he could imagine already the blue-black-purple finger-shaped marks that would last a week or two. It was a warning.

“I will do what needs to be done to protect our people.”

“I’m not Chiss.”

“Are you not? You have lived here many years, among us.” Thrawn said, tone mild.

Eli cannot release himself from Thrawn’s grip. “You murdered my family, my people and made me a slave.” He did not flinch even as the grip tightened further, threatening to crack bone.

Thrawn kissed him. He kissed Eli as if it were a battlefield, tearing through Eli’s protests and defenses until he was pliant beneath.

“I both hate and want you.”

Thrawn’s smile was savage and pleased, “I am aware, Eli.”

His resistance was part of their dynamic and by the time Thrawn had him bent over the desk, Eli was moaning Thrawn’s name, loud enough to warn anyone who might knock on the door.

They collapsed together and end up tangled on the floor, limbs sticky with sweat. Eli could not feel the chill of winter, but the anger remained — always, always.

Thrawn stroked his shoulder, feeling Eli relax inch by inch until he turned his face upwards, blinking back tears, “ _You are the moon_.”

“And you the sun.”


End file.
